The Survivalist (Frontier Justice)

By the time Mason arrived at the cabin, his mind was racing like a rookie trying to win his first NASCAR title. What he needed most was information. He had repeatedly tried the two-way radio and cell phone, both of which had failed him miserably. Now it was time to broaden his reach. He hurried around back and once again fired up the generator. Then he went inside and climbed a ladder to a small upstairs loft where his radio equipment was set up. He had been a licensed amateur radio operator for several years and knew from experience that, under the right conditions, one-hundred-watt broadcasts such as his could skip halfway around the world. Reaching out to those beyond the area of infection should be quite easy.

  He switched on the radio and checked the power level and antenna selection. Everything was a go. He tuned to a frequency in the 20-meter band that was active during emergencies, hoping to hear traffic. When he didn’t hear any transmissions, he said, “This is KB4VXP. Is anyone listening on this frequency? I’m looking for information on the pandemic.”

  He waited for a response. When none came, he repeated his call for help.

  After his second transmission, a voice said, “Who is this?” The voice was that of a young woman. She wasn’t following standard Ham jargon.

  Mason keyed his microphone.

  “This is KB4VXP. What is your call sign, over?”

  “I … I don’t know. This was my husband’s radio.” She sounded close to having an emotional breakdown.

  “Okay. No problem. Take it slow. Where are you broadcasting from?”

  “I’m in Ukiah.”

  “Where’s Ukiah?” he asked, wondering if she was even in the States.

  “Northern California. Where are you? Are you close? My son and I need help.”

  Mason didn’t like what he was hearing. Surely, the pandemic or attack hadn’t reached all the way to the West Coast.

  “Tell me what’s going on. I’m listening.”

  “They’re dead,” she cried.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Everyone’s dead!”

  Mason took a deep breath.

  “What’s your name, dear?”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Kathryn. Kate. I’m Kate Battens.”

  “All right, Kate, I’m Mason. Relax, okay? Let’s just talk. We’ll figure this out together. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Right,” she said, her voice steadying. “We’re in trouble here. Nearly everyone around us is dead, and no one has come to help.”

  “How did they die?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “The virus. Superpox-99. Only my son and I survived.”

  Mason had never heard of Superpox-99, but he wasn’t going to lose his only link to the outside world by having her question his usefulness.

  “How many are dead in Ukiah? In California?”

  “They’re all dead. My neighbors. My husband. My co-workers. My pastor. They’re all dead,” she repeated, her voice rising again.

  “Has Superpox-99 affected the major cities? Los Angeles? San Francisco?”

  “I think so,” she answered. “We have no TV. No radio. No power or even water. I’m running this radio using my husband’s generator. Please, we need help desperately.”

  Mason considered the implications of what she was telling him. He reminded himself that she could be wrong. People who were in disaster areas often made assumptions about things that later proved untrue. Maybe the virus wasn’t as widespread as she claimed.

  Then again, maybe it was.

  Before he could reply, another voice came over the radio.

  “This is WA4RTF. Who is transmitting, over?”

  “This is KB4VXP, Deputy Marshal Mason Raines.” Normally, he wouldn’t have identified himself as a law enforcement officer when transmitting over amateur radio, but given the circumstances, it felt right.

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Marshal. I’m Jack Atkins. Any chance you can provide an update on the spread of the virus? Also, please relay your location and conditions, over.”

  “I’m near Boone, North Carolina. The virus has definitely hit here. Where are you, Jack?”

  Kate suddenly cut in.

  “Jack, are you close to California? We need rescue. Please, my son is only eight.”

  Jack took a moment before answering.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re nearly three thousand miles from me. I’m in Gloucester, Virginia. No way that I can reach you. Not in time anyway.”

  “Listen Kate,” said Mason, “we’ll get you help. Just hang in there. Do either of you know the state of the country? Has the National Guard been deployed? What areas remain unaffected?”

  Jack came back on.

  “Marshal, I was hoping you could tell us that.”

  When Mason didn’t answer, Jack continued. “From what I’ve been able to determine, this thing’s global. I have yet to find anyone in an unaffected area. As for the National Guard, I imagine they died right alongside everyone else. How is it you’re out of the loop on all this, Marshal?”

  “I’ve been in the mountains for a few weeks and am just now seeing the damage.”

  “I’d say you picked one hell of an opportune time to get away from other people.”

  “Does the virus require physical contact?” Mason asked, thinking about his encounters with those lying dead on the road.

  “No. It can definitely be passed through the air. Get coughed or spit on by someone infected and you’ve joined the walking dead.”

  “Then why didn’t I catch it? Or my son?” asked Kate. It was clear from the trembling in her voice that she had been crying again.

  “As with every virus, I suppose there are some people with a natural immunity to it. You and your son must be two of the lucky ones, if you want to call it that.”

  “What about you, Jack?” asked Mason. “Are you immune too?”

  “I seriously doubt it. When I saw things going downhill, my wife and I locked ourselves up tight. We haven’t left the house in over two weeks. I’ve been trolling the airwaves ever since, trying to piece things together.”

  Mason nodded. Jack was someone worth knowing, a prepper who’d had enough sense and supplies to hole up and wait things out.

  “What do you know about the virus? Is there a treatment? A vaccination?”

  “I’m pretty sure that the initial reports over the TV and radio were government-filtered to prevent panicking,” replied Jack. “But based on what I’m hearing, it’s bad. Real bad. Until I get out, I can’t say for sure. As for an antidote or vaccination, I’m not aware of either.”

  “There was an announcement by the CDC,” interjected Kate, “that they were working on a vaccine, but I never heard if they were successful. TV, radio, and the internet all shut down. My guess is there just wasn’t time.”

  “Even if they don’t have a vaccine yet, you can bet that scientists are working around the clock in a sealed lab somewhere,” said Mason. “Once this thing broke out, they would have put in place emergency protocols to ensure that the nation survived.”

  “I agree,” said Jack. “But it may have been too little too late. Not to sound like a doomsayer, but I think our country is all but dead.”

  “Listen, both of you, I need help,” Kate pleaded. “We’re going to die if one of you doesn’t help us. Do you understand? My son and I are going to die.”

  The airway remained silent for several seconds.

  Mason considered his options. The best he could do was to offer some advice.

  “What are your most pressing needs?”

  “Water,” she replied quickly. “We’ve been forced to drink from our neighbor’s swimming pool, and it’s making us both sick.”

  “Okay, that one’s easy. Start by draining your water heater. That should give you enough for a few weeks if you’re careful with it. You can use the pool water to flush your toilet, but use the water in your water heater for drinking and cooking. Do you think you can drain it?”

  “I’m … I’m not su
re. I think so. You hook a hose to the bottom, right?”

  “That’s right,” answered Mason. “Connect a hose to the spigot at the bottom of the tank, and put the other end of the hose into a bucket. Then flip the relief valve at the top of the tank and open the spigot. Some water heaters are a little different, so you may have to play around with it. Just get you and your son some clean water to drink.”

  “Okay, yes. I can do that. Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

  “Do you have food?” asked Jack.

  “We’re scavenging from neighbors’ houses. It’s awful. People I’ve known and loved for years are lying dead in their beds or on the floor.”

  “Kate, you’re keeping your son alive,” said Mason. “That’s what’s important right now. Do whatever you need to. Take what you need from those who have passed. They’d want you to do that. Grab food, blankets, fuel, and whatever else you need. When your water heater runs out, drain your neighbors’. You should be able to survive for months by scavenging from those around you.”

  “I will. But I have to be careful.”

  “Why? Are you worried about catching the virus?”

  “No, it’s like Jack said—my son and I must be immune or we’d have caught it from my husband.”

  “What then?”

  “The convicts.”

  “Convicts? What convicts?”

  Jack came on again.

  “Marshal, when things got really bad, the president issued an executive order to release prisoners from penal institutions that could no longer be manned.”

  “Why in the hell would she do that?”

  “It was either that or let them die of dehydration and starvation in unattended jail cells. Tough call for anyone.”

  “She released everyone?”

  “No, of course not. The presidential directive only authorized the release of non-violent offenders. Murderers, rapists, and the like were to be consolidated to a few federal prisons in order to make them easier to manage.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “It might not have been if it had worked as planned. Unfortunately, by the time the order was issued, the prisons were terribly understaffed. With the massive releases and transfers, the plan just fell apart. With over two million people incarcerated, it became impossible to control the situation. Some prisons were emptied; others were overrun by the inmates. A few were just abandoned, leaving prisoners trapped inside.”

  “Do you have any idea how many convicts were released or escaped?”

  “There’s no way to know, but from what’s being reported over the airways, they’re everywhere.”

  Mason rubbed his temples.

  “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  Mason spent a good part of the day talking with Jack and Kate. When they finally signed off, everyone agreed to reconnect in two days to share anything new that may have been discovered. While there was still much that he didn’t know, Mason had learned that the origin of the virus was still a mystery. Early cases had shown up all over the world, from Russia and China, to areas across Europe and the Americas. No one yet could explain how it had spread to every corner of the globe so quickly. Given the indiscriminate infection, it was not believed to be a terrorist attack but, rather, Mother Nature flexing her muscle.

  It had been reported that Superpox-99 was a modified strain of smallpox that caused similar blistering, respiratory distress, arthritis, and blindness. If left untreated, death was all but certain. Hospitals had been overwhelmed within a few days, and most had to be protected by the National Guard. The emergency medical system eventually failed, as many caregivers became sick or abandoned their posts to tend to their own families.

  When the nation’s power grid failed, electricity, water, and other utilities were all subsequently lost. Television, radio, and emergency broadcasts fell silent a couple of days later as batteries and generator fuel were depleted. The loss of water and power led to mass exoduses from major cities. Highways became so gridlocked that people took to hiking out with supplies on their backs. In the end, it was unclear how many had survived. Based on what he had seen outside Boone, the number appeared to be quite small.

  Mason’s thoughts turned to his own family. His father, Tanner Raines, had been incarcerated for more than four years for killing two men outside a bar in Montgomery, Alabama. There was no way to know whether he had he been freed as a result of the president’s directive or was lying dead in his cell. If Mason had to guess, he would put money on his father having found a way out of prison. Tanner Raines was not a man who would go quietly into the night. Indeed, when pushed, he could become as violent and unpredictable as a loan shark collecting unpaid debts.

  While Mason’s first reaction had been one of disbelief when he had heard what the president had done, he also appreciated it on a personal level. She had perhaps given his father a chance at survival. Considering the circumstances, that was as much as anyone could ask. Mason’s mother, Grace, was living with her sister in a small Amish community in Cattaraugus County, New York. Her isolated lifestyle, which had once been of some concern to him, was now rather reassuring. There was definitely a possibility that she had escaped the pandemic.

  The question was what to do first. On one hand, Mason felt an obligation to check on his family, and on the other, he had a responsibility to see what remained of the Marshal Service. The Marshals, along with other law enforcement agencies, were surely in need of good men now more than ever. Before either effort could be undertaken, however, he needed to better assess his own predicament. Were things as bad as Kate and Jack had suggested? Was everyone in the neighboring towns dead or dying? Or had the isolated Blue Ridge communities somehow survived the pandemic? Unfortunately, the only way to answer those questions was to leave the safety of his retreat.

  Mason went to his bedroom and slid the heavy oak bed to one side. He used a screwdriver to remove several long wood screws that held two floorboards in place. Underneath were a gun case and a large green duffle bag. He lifted both out and placed them on the bed. For a moment, he stared at the case, running his fingertips along the top as if it was a photograph of a recently deceased family member. The time for such weapons had passed in his life, and he was reluctant to admit that such a need existed once again.

  He opened the case and removed the Colt M4 assault rifle. The weapon had been a gift from an old Army supply buddy whose life he had saved. It had been almost two years since he had secured the assault rifle under the floorboards of the cabin, but the weapon was still slick with a thick layer of grease. He held it up and looked down the fixed sights. Memories of combat played like an old home movie clicking along frame by frame, the images no longer real but, instead, snapshots of something that could never be completely forgotten.

  He pulled the charging handle, set the selector switch to semi-automatic, and squeezed the trigger. A familiar metallic click sounded. This was a weapon he trusted, a weapon that had saved his life on more than one occasion. He set the rifle beside him on the bed and untied the heavy drawstring that held the canvas bag closed. Inside were an assortment of cleaning supplies, a stack of thirty-round magazines, and more than a thousand rounds of ammunition. He removed and inspected each item.

  When the bag was finally empty, he opened the cleaning kit and went to work on getting the rifle ready for operation. Many things were still unknown, but one thing was for sure. The world had suddenly become a very dangerous place.

  Chapter 6